


In My Darkest Hour

by HunterusHeroicus93



Category: Lords of Chaos (2018), Mayhem (Band)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 15:18:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18694090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterusHeroicus93/pseuds/HunterusHeroicus93
Summary: What if Øystein had got home in time?





	In My Darkest Hour

The blade cut deeply, but Pelle still felt nothing. He watched the blood flow from his arm with interest, wondering why it didn’t hurt. He tried the other arm. Blood spurted from his veins, and he coughed, the air filling with the metallic stench. He still felt nothing. He turned the knife over in his hands. He thought for a minute, then dragged it across his throat. He dropped the blade and slumped backwards, choking.  
  
***  
  
“Drive safely!” Øystein’s mother called from the front door as she waved him goodbye.  
  
He waved back through the rear-view mirror and set off.  
  
The drive home wasn’t a long one, but it seemed to take forever. He had a bad feeling, and he didn’t know what it was. He’d left Pelle alone, which he felt guilty about, considering how the singer had been acting the night before. He hadn’t spoken a word after their show, and he’d gone straight to bed. This wasn’t unusual for Pelle - he was a shy person - but Øystein couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. He pressed his foot to the accelerator and glared at the road ahead of him, willing it to take him home.  
  
***  
  
Pelle groaned. That surprised him - he wasn’t sure if he could still make any sound. He rolled over and pushed himself to his knees. The flow had stemmed, and blood clotted around his throat, matting his hair. Damn Norway. It was too cold here. He hauled himself towards his desk and grabbed some paper and a pen.  
  
_Excuse the blood…_  
  
***  
  
Øystein pulled into the driveway at last. He tore into the house and up the stairs.  
  
“Pelle?” he called. “Pelle, answer me!”  
  
He found the young man’s room and kicked the door open, the lock snapping off inside.  
  
“Pelle!”  
  
He rushed over to where Pelle lay on the floor. He took in the bloody knife, the gashes along his arms, and, more importantly, across his throat.  
  
“Jesus, Pelle, what have you done?” He turned the singer over. Pelle coughed, and his eyes rolled back.  
  
Øystein pulled off his jacket and his tshirt, pressing the latter to Pelle’s throat. It didn’t seem to be bleeding as much as it should, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He found a few of Pelle’s shirts and wrapped his arms in them. He pulled out his phone, keeping one hand on Pelle’s chest.  
  
“Don’t worry, Pelle, I’m gonna get help,” he said as he dialled. “Just hold on.” The call connected.  
  
“I need an ambulance. My friend, he’s badly hurt. I think he tried to kill himself.” He gave the address, then hung up, making another call.  
  
“Jan, get over here. Pelle’s hurt, he -” Øystein faltered, unable to say the words a second time. Jan understood.  
  
“I’m on my way.”  
  
“Help is coming, Pelle, okay? Just stay awake.” His hand closed around Pelle’s, who was deathly cold. He draped his jacket over him and stroked his hair softly.  
  
“I should have been here… I’m sorry,” he whispered, a tear escaping down his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
***  
  
Øystein watched as Pelle was lifted into the ambulance, Jan’s arm around his shoulders.  
  
“I should have fucking done something,” he growled. “I knew something was wrong last night, I should have talked to him.”  
  
“You couldn’t have known,” Jan said. “You know what he’s like, he’s always hurting himself.”  
  
“Not like this.”  
  
“Look, you got home in time, okay? He’s going to be alright.”  
  
The ambulance sped away, the sirens screaming. Øystein wanted to believe Jan, but he wondered if the singer would ever be alright.  
  
***  
  
The room was too bright. Pelle didn’t like it. He kept his eyes tightly shut, trying to hold on to the darkness. It didn’t work. He stirred, and his eyes flickered open. A slow beeping reached his ears. He focused his senses, trying to work out where he was. He was lying down - comfortably, he noted. There were pillows behind his head. He hadn’t slept on a pillow in years. He didn’t even own one, so this couldn’t be his room. Memories faded in and out, and he concentrated.  
  
Blood… a lot of blood. Øystein. Someone talking. Then, warmth spreading through him. His eyes adjusted to the light, and he looked around. He couldn’t move his head. That worried him, but somehow, he knew he was okay. The room was white, almost bare except for some machines, and a TV set on a shelf in the corner.  
  
A hospital room.  
  
The beeping grew faster, and the door opened. A nurse hurried over to him.  
  
“Settle down, love. It’s alright. You’re safe now.”  
  
She spoke softly, in hushed tones. Pelle liked her voice. It reminded him of his mother.  
  
“M’m?” he mumbled. His tongue felt heavy, and he couldn’t quite make the words come out.  
  
“I’m Nurse Sanders,” she said gently. “Do you know what happened?”  
  
Pelle thought for a second, then nodded. Pain shot through him as he did so. He winced, the relaxed. Pain. He’d missed it. He missed feeling.  
  
“Your friends are here. Would you like to see them?”  
  
He nodded again, wondering who she could mean. He didn’t have any friends… did he?  
  
The nurse left, and returned a minute later with Øystein and Jan. He stared as they rushed over, each taking a side of the bed.  
  
“Pelle! Thank God you’re okay!”  
  
“You scared the hell out of us, man. What were you thinking?”  
  
“I’m… I wasn’t…” Pelle started hoarsely. He didn’t know what to say. He suddenly felt ashamed. Here were two people who clearly cared about him a great deal, and he’d thought he had no one.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
His bandmates leaned over him, hugging him gently.  
  
“It’s okay,” Øystein whispered. “You’re going to be okay.”  
  
Pelle smiled, and for the first time, he believed it.


End file.
